


Once Upon a Mountain

by glancesherlock



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, Gen, Johto, Nuzlocke Challenge, Pokemon HeartGold, Storylocke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glancesherlock/pseuds/glancesherlock
Summary: A boy who wants to become a knight. A knight who loves a princess. A princess who plots to kill a king. A king who will stop at nothing to raise a monster. These are grave times for the Kingdom of Johto, indeed.





	1. Prologue

_Nevera_

The vastness of the cavern almost convinces Nevera that the village and Castle Blackthorn are merely a distance dream. There’s a stillness here, as if all the world was dead and stale. The only thing with life is the water. It cascades down the rocky wall and springs up a white, clouded mist. It coats her cloak and soaks her hair. Ignoring her shivering, she finds herself staring deeply at where the waterfall meets the lake. It’s her, she decides. Strong as she is furious, yet cold as she is numb. She searches for courage in the contradiction. Anything to steel herself. Just one step, and then another, and she would set foot in that terrible Dragon Den.

Her feet are heavy.

“Princess,” a voice says, stern and concerning. “Please allow me to go with you.”

Nevera shakes her head. The movement is curiously grounding. A resolve. “No, Eusine. I have to prove that I trust him.”

Ser Eusine squares his shoulders. His gloved hand was a trigger away from drawing his sword. “I swore to Hawk—”

“I know.” She touches his arm to steady it. “Stand guard out here if you must, but this is where it begins. Besides…” She smiles at the Glaceon waiting patiently at the entrance. “I’ll have Snow.”

He’s not satisfied. Stubborn gallant. Her eyes grant him one last silent plea before she steps into the cave.

Like a fire gone alight, the den is filled with life. A wriggling body of fangs and scales lies waiting below. Dragons. Dozens of them. All of them shifting and hissing, some slithering, others snapping. The very sight of it makes Nevera cling for the wall. Fear shackles her feet to the stone floor. One cry, and Eusine would be at her side, and then perhaps this could be bearable. She has not been so close to a dragon, not since they crashed down upon her home and tore her life away. Not since she lost her Hawk…

Something presses against her hip. Snow flicks her ears and offers a comforting paw. Nevera takes it with gratitude. It’s cold and familiar. Soft. A promise. With a word, the Glaceon would summon an icy wind to inflict the horde and do so gladly. Her closest friend, her greatest weapon. A comfort, indeed.

Sealing away the ache in her heart, she continues her descent. The crack of a whip makes her flinch. It’s brandished by the false king of Johto himself, standing with bold defiance against his own Dragonite. The afflicted beast whines and recoils, yet it’s stung again by the whip.

A shaking voice pierces through its cry. “Hasn’t it had enough!” It comes from Oltha, who stands reluctantly at her husband’s side.

Nevera sneers. _Husband._ He stains the word. A Muk would serve her sister better.

“One blow is a warning,” Lance explains curtly. “The second is a reminder. You’ll never get anywhere with dragons if they think you soft.”

With care, Nevera reaches the bottom step. She bows her head and lets her presence be known.

“Your Majesty. My queen.” The cadence she uses would have been foreign to her three years ago. How naturally it comes to her now.

Oltha remains stagnant, but Lance opens his arms in a show of a welcome. The whip dangles from his hand.

“Dear Nevera, there’s no need for such formalities down here. We are family, after all.” There’s a threat in what he says. Somewhere. Three years of studying his character proved all his words hold a secret weight. “Though I was worried you would reject my invitation.”

She takes his outstretched hand and tries not to wretch as he kisses her fingers. A perfected smile is planted on her face. “It is not my place to dishonor my king’s wishes.”

Manners maketh the mask.

“Indeed,” Lance agrees with a pointed glare at Oltha. She stares at the ground. “Such a wise sentiment.”

With a flick of his wrist and a brush of his cape, he motions for them to follow. Nevera takes her sister’s arm. Though older, Oltha is weaker in spirit, and this marriage whithered her. She grew frail and quiet, kept to herself, and rarely took meals. Once she sang like a fairy and danced like a Roserade. Now Nevera would give anything to even hear her hum.

 _Hold on, dear sister,_ she wants to say. _I will make it right._

The dragons shy away to let their master pass. Whatever fierceness they had is overcast by fear. All the same, they linger and watch with beady eyes in the dark and fire in their bellies. Fire that could rain upon them if Lance so wished it. Nevera is still glad for Snow’s company. She trails closely behind, wary with ears pinned flat. A curious Dratini draws too near, and it’s rewarded with an icy warning growl.

Lance stops at a nest guarded by a Dragonair. Its body coils around a clutch of eggs—four that Nevera can see. He hisses something to the beast, and when it resists the order, a mere raise of the whip encourages it to flee.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he breathes, using a tenderness Nevera did not think he could muster. It vanishes in favor of self-regard. “The first to be laid since the dawn of my reign.”

Oltha resists going any further, so with a gentle pat, Nevera lets go of her sister to approach the nest. She can’t deny Lance’s words, the eggs are beautiful. The shells are encrusted with scales and precious stones. They hardly appear natural. Gingerly, she reaches out to touch one. It’s warm, practically sun-baked.

“They’re magnificent,” she admits. Glittering words. Play to his pride. “Your Majes… Lance,” Nevera smiles up at him. Large eyes, soft voice: a picture of innocence as she requests, “When they hatch, may I have one?”

Her stomach knots as he hesitates. She cannot make him feel a hint of suspicion. Every moment of silence grows a fear that her plot is ruined before it can even begin.

Finally, he asks, “What use have you for a dragon?”

“It is my duty to understand Johto inside and out,” she recites. “If this is to be our kingdom’s future, then I must uphold my responsibility.”

“I see,” he murmurs, low and deep. “For the sake of your duty, my princess, you may have your pick of the litter.”

She inclines her head. “Thank you, my king.”

The words nearly stick in her throat. A king he may be, but a king in title alone. The ruling spirit rests within her, she knows it. He stole her parents’ kingdom and her happiness, but she’ll take them back. Her sister will sing again. Her people will know peace. She will find Hawk so they can be together.

Lance’s chuckle echos throughout the Dragon Den. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll become a dragon tamer yourself.”

“Perhaps I will,” she whispers. As her hand caresses the shell, she wills the baby to burst through and tear his throat out.


	2. A Knight of Ilex

_Robyn_

“Why are the good ones always so high?”

There’s no one around for Robyn to pose the question to, save for Lucky, of course. The two were out for a morning quest when they came across an oran berry bush growing out of a crag. It’s thick with fruit, larger and more plump than any Robyn saw before. The tricky part was reaching them.

He stands at the foot of the crag, rubbing his chin in the same manner he’s seen Father Elm do when assessing a patient. A stick, he determines. He needs a good stick. Something long enough to hit the bush, but nothing too big or heavy.

“Lucky, can you help me look?” he asks his companion. The Chikorita’s leaf shakes, a sign he understood he was being spoken to. For an answer, he sits back on his haunches and carefully folds his forepaws before settling into the grass.

Robyn huffs. “Alright, I’ll do it by myself, but no berries for you then!”

Retreating to the brush, he sorted through every stick and dead branch he could find. Many break as he heaves them from the pile. A few refuse to budge. His legs are poked and scraped in his search, but at last he finds a true prize. It’s shoulder-height, light but sturdy with no sharp bends or branchings. Perfect.

The berry bush proves stubborn. Even on tip-toe, Robyn can only swipe at the lowest branch. He uses the crag for balance as he swings. Three measly berries tumble to the ground.

A frustrated snort escapes him, and he scrunches his face as he begins formulating a second plan. As he ponders, Lucky chirps and extends a vine, quick as an arrow, to the bush. It wraps around the base and shakes it violently until berries rain down on the two of them.

Robyn brushes some leaves from his hair and scrunches his face. “Why didn’t you do that before?”

The bright red eyes blink, expecting praise from his master. They soften Robyn’s mood, and he excitedly begins gathering the fruit in his shirt. It isn’t often a quest reaps such a reward, and he’s eager to show Father Elm. He imagines the bold and daring tales he’ll tell upon his return. He invents a monstrous Geodude to battle for his treasure. The thoughts entertain him as his bare, calloused feet take him towards the village. Lucky keeps behind, gobbling up any stray oran berries that fall.

New Bark Village is small, quiet. Home to farmers and foragers praying for a peaceful life. Yet it was larger and louder before the houses were painted with scorch marks. Robyn averts his eyes as he rushes past.

He bursts into the chapel’s house like a gust of wind, announcing proudly, “I’m back!”

“And about time!” Father Elm’s voice sounds from the cellar. His balding head appears as he lifts a wooden box from below. “I’ve been needing your help all morning.”

“I had to quest!” Robyn insists as he empties the berries into a wooden bowl. Both his hands and the front of his shirt are stained purple from them. “Lucky and I found this really big oran berry bush, and—”

“Robyn, please.” Straining, Father Elm pulls himself from the cellar and settles on the floor. “This place is a sty, and we’ve to have guests soon. A Murkrow came with a message that a knight and a mystic ride this way, and they’ll be here any moment—Robyn!”

The boy dashes outside at the news, running to the western end of the village where he stops and peers. He can see them, circled by a Noctowl. Distant, but clear.

They’re as different as night and day. The one who rides a Stantler is coated in a simple, brown cloak, but it flows back to reveal vibrant robes underneath. The mystic, surely.

But it’s the knight he really came to see. She rides tall, astride a large Arcanine whose paws could probably crush a Graveler. She’s dark, clad in an earthy green armor, and her black hair and cloak flow loosely in the wind. And of course, at her hip, she wears a sword. Robyn wonders if it shines, how sharp it is, who it’s killed. A weight rests in his belly as his mind conjures memories of fire and blood. Screaming, running, hiding. The symbol on the hilt. Those words: _You’re safe now._

He might have watched them forever if Father Elm didn’t storm over and drag him off.

*** * ***

Robyn knows he shouldn’t be here—sneaking, listening, disrespecting the strangers in this way. Especially not after the earful he received from Father Elm for disobeying. But no fear of punishment could deter him from getting but a glimpse at them… or that sword. So he waits and hides in the cupboard, hoping for a long, close look.

It’s night. The newcomers have already acquainted themselves with the villagers. They’ve surveyed fields, inspected shops, and visited patients. Father Elm made sure to give them the grand tour. Robyn hadn’t been allowed to go. Instead he cleaned and prepared the dining nook for a special meeting. About what? No one would tell him. Another reason to spy.

His eyes are droopy by the time they arrive. He hears Father Elm usher them in. Other voices sound, maybe four of them. Robyn peers through a hole in the cupboard door and recognizes the town’s blacksmith and a farmer. Following the mystic diligently is an Umbreon, whose rings still glow from the moonlight. The strangers are seated, and the knight positions herself so the sword is frustratingly out of sight.

Robyn groans quietly, echoed by a sigh from Lucky, who rests in his lap. They’ll have to wait and hope she stands or turns around.

The adults speak in very hushed tones, despite the room’s privacy. They’re drowned out slightly by coughing fits from patients in the next room. Robyn strains himself to listen, but only makes out a few words.

“...to the west…”

“...correspondance…”

“...Princess…”

“...her signal…”

He picks out the word “Ravagers” and tenses. But without much else to gauge, he grew bored of their conversation. It occurs to him that they may take all night, or worse, Father Elm may call for him and discover he’s missing. What then?

As he ponders these outcomes, a low scratching sound resonates through the cupboard. It’s on the door. Lucky straightens his leaf, suddenly alert. 

“Ah, Lunal,” says a leathery voice, “You’ve found him.”

A fiercely red eye appears in the hole, it startles Robyn enough for him to forget his silence. He screams and kicks, making the door swing wide open. The Noctowl hoots an alarm and flaps away furiously.

Robyn freezes. All eyes are on him.

Father Elm stands so quickly he knocks over the stool. “Robyn! What on earth—”

“I’m sorry!” He clumsily scrambles out and sprawls on the floor. Lucky stays close, still bracing for whatever danger may come. “I just wanted to see her sword!”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Father Elm stutters to his guests. “My ward holds a certain obsession with the Knights of Ilex.”

Robyn hides his face in the floorboards. It’s red with embarrassment from being caught, and his heart’s racing from imagining the punishment he’ll receive for this.

Soft footsteps approach him, yet he doesn’t dare look up. It isn’t until the mystic speaks that he raises his head.

“We knew you were in there, young man. Don’t worry.” There’s a kindness in her eyes, matched by an otherworldliness that Robyn can’t place. Her face is smooth and blemishless, almost glowing like her Umbreon. It’s impossible to guess her age, but he imagines she’s as wise as an elder. This close, he can see her robes clearly. Gold thread paints pictures in the red fabric—images of nature and arcane symbols, all framed by a green trim. Robyn gapes at her, only vaguely aware that he’s taken her hand to rise.

Father Elm’s plea for him to retire to his room is cut off by a motion from the knight.

“You wish to see my weapon?” she asks, almost playfully. “Why is that?”

Robyn nearly starts, almost shaken by the knight’s voice. She’s just as commanding and strong as he imagined any knight would sound, though facing her now, he grows nervous. Words fail him.

Thankfully, Father Elm comes to his rescue. “When the Ravagers raided New Bark three years ago, many families were torn apart. Robyn here lost his parents, and he’s convinced himself he was saved by a Knight of Ilex.”

“I was!” Robyn bursts, the urge to defend his claim giving him new life. “I didn’t see them—I was hiding—but I saw the hilt! It had a symbol! I just want to…” He trails off and stares at his feet. 

After a moment of silence, the knight is in front of him. She shifts so that the sword is in full view.

“I have never been to New Bark before,” she states. “So I cannot possibly be your savior, but if it will quell your curiosity...”

Robyn gulps. She’s tall. Much taller than he was expecting. Her presence is frightening, yet exciting. A knight. A real Knight of Ilex in his very home, speaking to him. He has so many questions he’s too timid to ask. He can’t waste this opportunity, though. He looks at the sword.

Despite her words, he still held onto hope that he would recognize the symbol, but alas, this isn’t it. On her hilt is a golden flame. Not even close to the mountain from the sword that saved him.

“Well?” asks the knight. “Are you satisfied?”

Robyn nods, his head hung once again. “Y-yes. Thank you, Ser…”

“Hawkins.”

“Thank you, Ser Hawkins. I-I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He’s bubbling with things he wants to say, but nothing more will come out. He’s both grateful and upset when Father Elm instructs him to retire.

*** * ***

_Hawkins_

“There's a peculiar poetry in traveling here,” Hawkins muses. “New Bark. Something that grows in place of the old bark that was stripped away.”

“Took you the whole trip to craft that one, didn’t it?”

Hawkins starts at the jest and shoots a grimacing look at Zuki. The mystic chortles, busy weaving cords into a beaded braid.

Father Elm could only offer them one room to share, as the rest are occupied by the sick. It’s cramped with three straw beds and a small wooden table, but it’ll suffice for their stay. The north-facing window is what satisfies Hawkins. She positioned herself there the moment they returned from the meeting.

“I only _meant,_ ” she decides to explain herself. “That after Lance tore away the old kingdom—”

“I understand metaphor, Hawk.” Zuki gingerly threads a cord through a jade bead. “It’s a matter of how well we can grow your… _new bark._ ” Another laugh, and her Umbreon rests his chin on her knee as if to curb her humor.

Hawkins huffs and gazes out the window. It’s a cool and cloudy night. It may even rain. She imagines Aramis grumbling at the thought of his fur wet. He may have to suffer through it, even in his shelter. The stables here leave much to be desired.

“Speaking of growth,” a pinch of allusion enters Zuki’s voice. “That boy.”

Hawkins quickly grumbles her words, anticipating the mystic’s intent. “Yes, he has quite an imagination. There were no Knights of Ilex in New Bark three years ago. We were all…” The words stick. She swears she feels a dainty hand leaving hers and almost reaches for it. “We were all in Blackthorn.”

“That may be the case,” Zuki’s eyes practically shine. “But you felt it, didn’t you? I did the moment we walked in the room. He has Celebi’s blessing.”

Hawkins nods. “Yes, as does Elm, the baker, the butcher, and three merchants we met on the road. She isn’t exactly stingy with it.”

“All the same,” she insists. Persistent magic-wielder. “I often wonder when you plan on taking a squire.”

“We did not come here to scout for squires.” It’s enough to tense her shoulders. A squire? Now? At the dawn of a rebellion? The boy would sooner be hanged than knighted. Hawkins protests as such.

Zuki digs in her heels. “My Sisters and I will see to his protection.”

She speaks as if the decision is already made, and it doesn’t sit well with Hawkins. How mystics can cling to their impulses so eagerly is well beyond her understanding. She’ll have to kill this here and now before her companion grows too determined.

“Not everyone with the blessing can become a Knight of Ilex.”

“Yes, but it is a requirement.”

“He’s too young.”

“You were younger.”

“He’s skinny!”

“He has no one.” Zuki’s chin lifts. A bead drops to the floor and is batted away by a black paw. “No family, no house. A chapel is not a home, and a dying village knows no future. Elm is a capable guardian, but a parent, he is not.”

Hawkins snorts contemptuously. The mystic is frustratingly convincing. Yes, if she ever _was_ to take a squire, someone with no strings attached would be a favorable choice. No commitments, no distractions. He could devote his whole being to the sword. But the boy is too timid. He was barely able to stand on his feet and muster up a simple sentence.

Not to mention he would become an obstacle for her true mission.

Somehow, Zuki torturously reads her mind. “Besides, what would our Princess Nevera say when she learns you haven’t done a thing to restore the Knights of Ilex? How fruitless your absence has been?”

Her fingernails dig into her palms. “That was cruel, Zuki.”

“Perhaps,” she admits. “I don’t put upon you with this decision for my amusement, you know. It could be what the kingdom needs. The false king thought he burned us to the ground, what better way to stick it to him than to raise life from the ashes?”

Hawkins stares stubbornly out the window. Yet she can’t help but contemplate...

Zuki clears her throat. “That means—”

“I understand the metaphor!”

A chuckle escapes her as she ties the final knot. “Think it over, Hawk. You have a fortnight to decide. Though I’m sure you’ll choose what’s best for the kingdom, and for yourself.” The stool creaks as she stands. “No amount of my magic could blacken the darkness you’ve endured these past three years. It’s time you had a little light.”

A sickly feeling seeps into Hawkins’ chest. Light, she says. There’s already light! North. Far… far north…

Zuki moves to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“This is for the boy,” she offers up the braid. “His eyes aren’t acquainted enough with sleep. It’s a charm to help.”

“Don’t spoil Father Elm’s hospitality by putting his ward in a sleeping death.”

Zuki smirks mischievously. “I only reserve such curses for false kings, Ravagers, and unruly knights. Come, Dimmer.” With a wink and a sweep of her robe, she leaves, her Umbreon padding obediently behind her.

Hawkins turns her attention back to the window. Back to north. Where a tyrant sits on a stolen throne. Where Murkrows send out orders of death and despair. Where her love stays trapped by a dragon horde.

While the region crumbles, she still looks to north.

“Nevera…”

The name alone washes a calming wave over her. She wanders to a time and place where two hearts came together under a Ledian-lit sky, once upon a mountain. But the memory is tarnished by the blood and anguish from that dreadful day, when dragon fire burned a rift between them.

A burst of rage moves Hawkins’ feet to her weapons. She equips them without a thought. Nighttime or no, she needs to train. It was Nevera who sent the message for them to meet with Father Elm. If her princess is able to stir up a storm while in the belly of the beast, then she must rise in earnest to fight her lady’s battle.

A cluster of trees near the chapel makes for a perfect spot. No torch is needed. She can see in the dark just fine. She whistles for Lunal, and the Noctowl flies to her side, ready to perform her duty.

Unclipping an axe from her belt, she chucks it expertly at the closest tree and sticks it deep within its trunk. With a coo, Lunal flies to fetch it while Hawkins takes out a dagger and slices an imagined enemy on her left moving with inhuman speed and dexterity. She thrusts her hand into the air, and the axe drops into her waiting palm. She throws it again.

She can sense uneasiness from her steed in the stables. Almost jealousy.

_Don’t worry Aramis,_ she wills him to understand. _You’ll have your turn tomorrow._

They perform the exercise with precise repetition. Hawkins varies it with different projectiles, testing both her flexibility and Lunal’s. They’ve been using this technique for years. Nearly perfected it. Yet there’s always room for improvement. A battlefield is not known for predictability.

Once she loses her breath, Hawkins takes a knee, signalling to Lunal that their drilling is over. She silently thanks Celebi for the powers granted to her and curses herself for not being better for them. What she could have done to the false king… What she _should_ have done!

A flicker of light catches her eye. Peering across the yard, she sees a moving figure through the window. It’s the boy. She watches curiously as he visits each bed, offering a bowl of oran berries to the patients.

*** * ***

_Robyn_

The strangers were to stay for two weeks. As punishment for spying, Robyn was assigned to cater to their every need, including their beasts. He hung his head as Father Elm gave him strict instructions, but only to hide his smile. Any excuse to be near the knight was exciting.

He spends each morning mucking out the stables. By far his most laborious chore, but the charm Sister Zuki gave him put new life in him. He was eager to see the strangers’ beasts up close. The Stantler kept its distance, but the Arcanine probably didn’t know what fear was, not at his size. He seems smarter than most creatures, even has the courtesy of moving out of the way as Robyn works. Up close, he can see that the giant dog has lost his right eye.

“Your name’s Aramis, right?” Robyn reaches up to touch the wound. He can only graze the beast’s cheek. “How did this happen?”

The Arcanine only grants him a stoic silence.

“Do you want me to brush your fur?” He asks, already reaching for the brush. “It’s really matted.”

Aramis makes no show of protest against the grooming, and Robyn happily goes to work, talking all the while.

“You’re the biggest thing I’ve ever seen! But we never see anything like you around here. I once saw a Pidgeotto attack a Rattata, that might have been the biggest one before you. Lucky is supposed to grow a lot, but not for a long time. He’s still a baby. At least I think so. I only got him after I started living with Father Elm, and he was already born. Sweet Suicune, you have a lot of fur!”

Once he brushes ever inch he could reach, Robyn is surprised to see the Arcanine lower himself to the ground.

“You want me to get your back?”

More silence, which he takes as a yes. Even lying down Aramis is almost too tall for him to handle. When he’s finished brushing every part he can reach, he stops and ponders how he’ll get to the neck. Slowly, he grasps a clump of orange fur just above him and waits. When Aramis makes no move, he grabs and another and pulls himself up so he’s on the beast’s back.

A surreal feeling washes over him. Up here, on a steed, he feels more than tall. He feels… _ready._ For what, he can’t say.

“You’ve been on a lot of quests,” he asks wistfully. “Haven’t you?”

Aramis’ great head turns so Robyn can see his good eye clearly. It’s black and deep, probably holding a wisdom only elders have known.

“Maybe I could…” He leans forward like he’s ready to pounce and gazes beyond the Arcanine’s head. He imagines a field, vast and lush, with enemies waiting on the other side. He could run to them. He could draw a sword. He could—

“Enjoying yourself up there?”

He jumps so high he’s forced to grasp for Aramis’ mane to stay on. Ser Hawkins was standing just outside of the pen, stone-faced. She looks ready for battle with all the equipment at her belt.

“Oh, um. I’m sorry! I was just brushing him!” He scrambles to slide down to the floor, holding up the brush as proof.

“Of course you were.” By her tone, he guesses she doesn’t believe him. “Just in time for me to get him dirty again.”

He can’t help but ask, “What are you doing?”

Ser Hawkins clicks her tongue, and Aramis exits the pen.

“Training,” she says simply and mounts her steed.

A flare of excitement wells up in his chest. She may not be _his_ knight, but she’s strong, wise, and brave, he can feel it. She must be a whirlwind of a fighter. “Can I watch?”

“Not today.” She’s moving away now, and he jogs to catch up.

“What about tomorrow?”

No answer. She signals Aramis into a run, and they dash out of the stables.

The days pass too quickly for him. Sister Zuki’s sleeping charm continues to give him a newfound vigor, and he’s able to finish his chores much quicker than before. So much so that Father Elm challenges if he’s done anything at all. After confirming that all of his ward’s duties have been met and failing to think of other tasks, he dismisses him for the afternoon.

Robyn fills his spare time keeping as close to Ser Hawkins as he can. While she grants him little acknowledgement and never answers his questions, his insatiable curiosity drives him to discover more about her. He finds any excuse to enter the yard during her training sessions. When she catches on to his game, he starts climbing a nearby tree to spy.

Her movements are incredible. Quick and precise, like nothing he’s ever seen. Astride Aramis, she’s seems unstoppable, making quick work of every target with a single swing of her sword. Once she thrust her blade into a makeshift soldier and lobs it into the air, ordering Aramis to set it afire. Robyn gapes. She must be a nightmare for the Ravagers.

The most curious thing she does occurs every dawn. Robyn’s able to catch it as he heads to the well for the morning water. She kneels in the grass, sword pointed to the earth with her hands resting on the hilt. He eyes are closed, and she’s saying something he can’t hear. She must wake up before the sun to perform this ritual. But what could she be doing? Praying? He wishes to ask her.

He shouldn’t.

When he’s not observing the Ser Hawkins, he’s mimicking her. He now takes a wooden sword on his daily quests, showing off to Lucky what he’s learned from watching the knight. When a Sentret crosses his path, he challenges it to a duel, but only succeeds in frightening it off.

One day while spying in his usual tree, the fun is finally spoiled. A dagger flies through the air and sticks itself deep in a branch close to his hand. The knight’s spotted him. He fearfully jumps to the ground and flees to the chapel, trying to escape the sound of her scolding. Something in him is pained. Not because he was caught, but because he only wishes she would allow him to stay.

So it surprises him immensely when, three nights before the strangers are meant to leave, Ser Hawkins sends for him.

He takes Lucky for support. The Chikorita has always been his closest friend and greatest comfort, and he may need to rely on the small creature’s presence for this meeting.

The room is lit by a single candle. Robyn gulps as he notices Sister Zuki is absent. He was hoping the mystic would help to quell whatever anger the knight harbors toward him.

Ser Hawkins sits on the floor, her back straight as a board. Her face seems even more intense in the flickering light.

“Sit,” she commands sternly. He does so, positioning himself a few feet in front of her. He copies her posture, and he swears her lip curls at the motion. He’s glad Lucky settles in his lap.

She wastes no time. “Why do you insist on observing me?”

Robyn hesitates, finding himself nervous and unsure how to answer. “Um… I just… You’re a Knight of Ilex, and…” Heat runs to his cheeks.

“Is this related to the one who saved you from the Ravagers?”

His throat catches. He nods.

“I’m sure whoever this person was, you’ve built up quite an idea of who they are.”

It’s true. He always imagined his hero to be tall and gallant, glad head to toe in sparkling, untarnishable armor, and astride a mighty Skarmory that could slice the wind. They were kind and honorable, rescuing everyone in need of help. Letting them know they were safe...

“I can tell you now, whatever you’ve dreamed up, it’s false.” Her words strike him, like the dagger in the tree. “By the time the Ravagers had set their sights on attacking your village, Lance already sat on the throne. I’m sure Father Elm told you the story of how he came to power.”

“Um,” he murmurs meekly. “A little.” In truth, his guardian would avoid the subject as much as possible, citing, “it isn’t something to burden a young boy with.”

Ser Hawkins didn’t share his sentiment. “When the king and queen were slain, it was apparent that we wouldn’t see victory. Lance took the oldest princess as a hostage and gave the Knights of Ilex a choice: throw down their swords and renounce their knighthoods or be killed. As part of our oath, we hold honor above all else, so many heads rolled.”

The story churns Robyn’s stomach. His shaking hand reaches for Lucky. He doesn’t want any truth in what he’s hearing, yet all the same, he must ask, “So then… you’re not a...?”

The fierceness in her eyes grows more intense. “Circumstances were different for me. I was able to get away with my knighthood in tact, though the false king believes me dead. There’s a rumor circulating that another survives and lives in the palace. Until that rumor rings true, you are looking at the only Knight of Ilex left.”

Robyn’s head whirls. The rooms feels like it’s spinning. The Knights of Ilex can’t be dead. They can’t be! They’re the ones who protect everyone... He doesn’t want this. He wants to leave and hide away in his room. Still, the knight—the _last_ knight—doesn’t let up.

“I’m sure some kind soul rescued you that day, but they couldn’t possibly have been a—are you crying?”

He is. For years, he _knew_ a Knight of Ilex came to save him. He knew the other knights were out there, fighting for everyone in the kingdom. They gave him hope. If they’re gone, then nothing’s stopping the Ravagers from coming back. If the knights are dead, then so is hope. The weight of presses too hard on his heart, and he can’t fight the burst of tears.

“Uh… Listen, boy, I…” the knight’s almost stammering. She reaches out to him for a brief moment before retracting her hand. “I didn’t call you in here to be cruel! There’s something I’d like to ask of you, but I may reconsider if you can’t pull yourself together.”

Robyn rubs his eyes, hiccuping as he tries to calm down. He holds Lucky close, and the Chikorita burrows his head into his chest.

When the knight is satisfied that he seems ready to listen, she speaks again.

“Father Elm didn’t tell you the purpose of our visit, did he?”

He shakes his head, worried that if he speaks he’ll let out another sob.

There’s a sense of valor in what Ser Hawkins tells him next. “I cannot tell you everything, but we came here under orders to meet here with Father Elm to organize a movement, one that will reshape the region. Like clay. It promises to be a dangerous venture. We’ve got a long, harrowing journey ahead of us, and we may not even reach our goal.”

Robyn holds his breath. Though his face is still stained with tears and his throat threatened to catch at any moment, a tiny spark lit in his belly.

“The other Knights of Ilex are dead, it’s true,” she states solemnly, “But that doesn’t mean they’re gone forever. Sister Zuki believes that if we are going to rebuild our region, then we should rebuild our ranks as well.” Her pause sends his heart racing. He has a feeling... “Since the day we arrived, she’s had her eye on you as a potential squire for me.”

Despite his premonition, the gasp of surprise is too strong to hide. “Me?”

“You may not remember this,” she continues. “It likely occurred when you were very young, but Celebi has granted you her blessing. Only those with this precious gift can even be considered a potential Knight of Ilex.”

“So I’m…” Robyn’s breathing increases. This is so much. First the knights are gone, then this quest, and now Celebi might have blessed him to become a knight. He’s not sure how he feels. Eladed? Scared? Both? It’s like… something he never knew he was waiting for… All those quests he went on in the woods, it was because of something that called him to it. “I’m going to be your squire?”

Ser Hawkins holds up a hand. “Don’t get excited, I haven’t decided if I want you. To be honest, I feel it’s a horrible idea. It’ll be years of intense training, not to mention I’ll have to be on the road for a long while. It isn’t an easy decision to make.”

Still, Robyn’s energy rises.

“Seeing as Sister Zuki is so insistent on you, we’ve settled on a compromise. We’ll take you as far as Violet City.” Ser Hawkins’ eyes narrow. The flame from the candle dances in them. “And I’ll let Celebi herself decide your fate.”


End file.
